


This Scar Is Named John McClane.

by Basingstoke



Series: The Crack in the Door [1]
Category: Die Hard (Movies), Die Hard: With a Vengeance (1995), Live Free or Die Hard (2007)
Genre: Character of Color, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-16
Updated: 2009-12-16
Packaged: 2017-10-04 11:58:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Basingstoke/pseuds/Basingstoke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Thanks to Melina for a beta outside her fandom.  :)</p>
    </blockquote>





	This Scar Is Named John McClane.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Melina for a beta outside her fandom. :)

Matt is campaigning hard for Obama. It's a stinky hot New York June and Matt's been waking up nights with bad dreams and flashbacks to the sopping July heat of DC. John McClane, panic, sweat, and nauseated stomach-churning hunger. Now he's walking with John down the hot wet street and his shirt is sticking under his arms and in the small of his back, and he's hungry, and he's freaking out just a little, so he's trying to persuade John to vote Democratic just to pass the time.

"By no means is this a perfect system. In fact I think the voting machines are going to defraud us all. I could hack one with an iPod and a chewing gum wrapper, twenty seconds, in fact I could use a rotary phone and hum. Beep, boop, hsssss!" He mimes holding a telephone to his ear. In his head, it's big and black and vintage. John looks at him mildly, strolling along with his thumbs hooked in his front pockets. "But it's what we have and you cannot seriously think that Palin is a good choice. Come on. They're playing ignorance like a virtue, it's insulting. Like it's all-American to be willfully blind. And you know better than that."

"I do?"

"Yeah, you do. You play dumb but you appreciate brains."

"I do?" There's a little smirk on his face now.

"Not that I'm a Democrat? Which I am not. Both parties are equally corrupt. But if you have to vote for someone in a major party then oh my god, vote for the party who knows how to hire smart people. That's all I'm saying."

"Yeah, but John McCain, John McClane, it's like we're brothers," John says.

"You hurt me in my brain sometimes," Matt says. "Are we there yet?"

John points. Carver Locksmith and Repair, a nice-looking storefront. "He lives over the top. Bought the whole building with his reward money after the shit went down."

"Hey," Matt says, impressed. "Hanging with you is lucrative." Himself, he got some VERY sweet government contracts repairing the security that he helped crack.

"Yeah, well, it's not exactly a career."

They cross 138th Street to the store. John bypasses the storefront and rings the buzzer at the residential door beside it. The speaker clicks on. "Is anybody being shot?" a guy says.

"No, Zeus," John says.

"Is your ass on fire? Are you carrying a bomb?"

"No!"

"Does Gruber have any more god damn brothers?"

"I dunno."

"Hmm." A pause, and then the buzzer sounds, and John opens the door.

It's cool inside. Still no AC--energy prices doubled after the fire sale, with the destruction of the West Virginia plant, and there are still restrictions and rolling brownouts--but it's an older building, designed for temperature control. A door opens at the top of the stairs and a man steps out. He's black, looks about the same age as John, maybe a little younger, but the grandpa glasses throw Matt off. "John McClane," he says.

"Zeus Carver. Good to see you. It's been what, two years?"

"Three. I was just getting comfortable," Zeus says. "So introduce me."

"Let me get up the stairs first, damn," John says.

Matt, behind John, waves. "Matt Farrell. Nice to meet you."

"You the latest fool that got caught up in this man's life?"

"That's me."

"Well come in, I'll get you a beer." Zeus leads them inside. His house continues the grandpa look, with big plaid furniture, a wood-paneled turntable stereo, and pinstripe muslin curtains. There are twin portraits of Martin Luther King Jr. and Malcolm X on the wall. Between them are family shots of two boys from toddlerhood to college graduation. Matt and John both walk over to look at them.

"Oh, shit, is Raymond starting medical school this fall?" John asked.

"Damn straight."

"And Dexter's at--"

"NYU. National Merit Scholar." Zeus hands Matt a beer in a tall, thick glass. Oh nice, Hoegaarden! Matt takes a sip and feels the heat receding already. "Got a full ride, right before those real estate assholes and Thomas Gabriel tore down the financial system."

"Those are your sons?" Matt asks.

"Nephews. They live with my mom. I'm their positive male role model."

"Sounds like you're doing a good job of it," Matt says. He salutes Zeus with the glass.

"Abso-fucking-lutely I am, no thanks to this asshole! He nearly got me killed!" Zeus gives John a glass and a glare.

"Yeah, and after you saved my life and all. Thanks," John says, grinning. "What's Dexter studying?"

"Business. Turn that poker playing into a career. You go to college?" Zeus asks Matt.

"Yeah, MIT, but I never actually graduated. I started getting jobs for real money in my third year and didn't see the point in finishing." He paid his last tuition fees cash and his student loans with one big check. It felt good, like winning.

"You should get the paper," Zeus says. "People respect the paper."

Right, he's totally noticed that--oh wait, that's not the case at all. "I'll take that under advisement," Matt says.

"You mean you'll ignore me because I'm an old man and don't know what I'm talking about!" Zeus snaps. "Shit. You'll find out how right I am, sooner or later. Now come on, food's ready."

Zeus's table is set with proper place mats, china, and cloth napkins. Matt appreciates the effort. Most days he eats out of a bowl resting on his desk over the keyboard tray. And then, Zeus serves up the best damn pot roast with carrots and potatoes that Matt can remember eating, ever. Matt shuts up and eats before something explodes.

"Lucy graduate yet?" Zeus asks.

"Yeah," John sighs. "And Jack's twenty years old, I can't believe it."

"Now you can retire. They're grown, they can take care of themselves."

"I can't retire," John says. "What would I do?"

"Learn to fucking knit," Zeus says, and Matt laughs so hard he almost chokes on a carrot. In his mind, John is knitting a gun cozy decorated with little blue pom poms and brass bullet casings.

After the pot roast? Cherry pie. "Oh, my God," Matt groans after the first bite. He closes his eyes and licks his fork.

"What did I say? The man can cook," John says.

"Seriously. So good." Matt opens his eyes so he can eat this pie _properly_. John is watching him with a little half-smile.

Zeus looks from Matt to John, then back to Matt. Then he stares at John. "You son of a bitch. You want in this boy's pants."

John chokes.

"You bring him here, acting all friendly, hoping I'll drop a hint that I used to stick my cock up your lazy white ass. Hoping I'll do the work for you! Well I have news for you, John McClane! I AM NOT YOUR MAGICAL NEGRO!" Zeus stood up from the table. "Put down the pie and get the hell out of my house!"

John clears his throat and laughs. "Damn, Zeus."

"Oh, you think I'm joking, bitch? Give me that fork." Zeus snatches the fork out of John's hand. "Out!"

"Zeus--"

"Do not make me repeat myself!" John stands up, finally. Matt stands up as well. "Oh no, you stay," Zeus says.

Matt sits down.

"I'll talk to you later," John says. Zeus shoos him out the door and then sits back down, leaning uncomfortably close to Matt.

Matt takes a swallow of beer. "Up the ass? Really?" He--mental images.

Zeus stares at him. "I am what they used to call a confirmed bachelor. That means I'm a faggot and nobody talks about it because I'm black. He is a closet case who will fuck up your life. I tapped that ass for two years before I couldn't stand it any more. Are you even gay, son?"

"Uh." He's still in the process of asking and answering that question, but really, that's pretty much an answer in itself. "Bi."

"Well forget the muscles and the voice and that little smile thing he does. Ask yourself if you can afford to get involved with a man who gets into a machine gun shootout going for milk. Ask yourself why his wife left him, even though she loves him like meat loves salt. Then fuck him once and get it over with."

Matt swallows, staring into Zeus's eyes.

Zeus rolls his eyes and leans back. "Hell, you're too young to listen. How old are you?"

"Twenty-eight."

"You'll have a long time to get over him, then," Zeus says. He sighs and hands Matt a card. Matt stows it in his pocket and he will save it. "Take my number and call me when he breaks your heart."

"Sure," Matt says. "But what if he doesn't?"

"Then call me and tell me how you did it, son, because I would surely like to know."

John is leaning in the stoop in front of the shop when Matt comes back down into the damp, smelly air. He takes a few deep breaths so that his nose can get used to it again. "Hey," John says.

"So was that really the plan? Because seriously, you didn't have to go to that much effort." He leans into the stoop next to John.

"I don't make plans," John says. "I just roll with the punches."

"Do you really want in my pants?"

John smiles that little half-smile thing like Zeus mentioned. "Like I said, I don't make plans." But he's looking at Matt sideways and abruptly Matt really, really wants to kiss him.

So he does. John closes his eyes as Matt puts his hand on his shoulder and their lips meet. Jesus, he's a good kisser. And Matt, Matt has a vivid fantasy life, and he is picturing every inch of John McClane's body right now, parading between his retinas and his contact lenses.

The speaker clicks on again. "Get the fuck out from in front of my store! Does this look like Boystown to you? Damn, McClane!" Zeus yells. "You're right in front of my camera!"

John grins at the camera. Matt pulls him out of the door and down the street. "So," he asks. "Up the ass? Really?"

*

The End.


End file.
